


the one with the toys

by tryslora



Series: 12 Days of Tropemas 2018 [9]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 12DaysOfTropemas, Crack, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dolls, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, No Seriously This is Weird and Cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 08:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Stiles is a Ken doll, Derek is a teddy bear, and Jackson is a plastic dragon. Dean and Castiel are hunting a possessed toy. What could go wrong?





	the one with the toys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zummar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zummar/gifts).



> This was written for the 12 Days of Tropemas and the Crack prompt for day 8. Given suggestions of Sterekson and Destiel for relationships, I decided to combine them for an extra level of silly.

“Fuck!” Stiles stomps his foot, and it’s annoying because it clicks sharply against the top of the shelf but doesn’t thud. And he really, really wants that thud. He wants a loud sound that has some kind of guttural feedback. He stomps both feet, jumps up and down, and the toys on the shelf don’t even rattle.

A tail wraps around him, holds him in place. “Just stop, Stiles. All you’re doing is making me ill.” Stiles pinwheels as the tail drags him back, tucks him in close against a dragon’s body and curls one wing around him.

Because Jackson gets to be a dragon, while Stiles is some kind of male Barbie doll. He’s a Ken doll and he isn’t even dressed particularly well. He’s never seen a Ken doll wearing flannel before.

A low grumble draws his attention to the left, where a teddy bear sits with its legs stuck out over the edge of the shelf.

They’re both better off than Derek.

“It’s just your inner Der-bear coming out,” Stiles says.

“Say that again and I will rip your throat out,” Derek mutters.

“You know he loves it when you maul his throat, so don’t bother trying to threaten him,” Jackson says, his breath a rush of steam through the air. “Last time the two of you got into a fight you left bite marks on his skin and Scott was traumatized to see it.” Jackson pauses. “No. That part was fun. You can do that again.”

“Sure, when we’re human and it’s anatomically feasible,” Stiles says. He pushes Jackson’s tail and wing away. “Jackson, we’re toys. Because someone had to insult a witch, we are now _toys_. I have no idea how to get us back to human, and I’m supposed to be the supernatural magical expert of this triad, so for the moment, we need to focus on this problem.”

Jackson huffs, and a bit of flame follows the billow of smoke. He grins sharply, baring his teeth. “I’m the best toy.”

“Of course you are,” Derek grumbles.

There’s a jingle in the distance. “Guys,” Stiles says quietly. “Seriously, guys, I don’t think we’re alone here.”

The place is dark, and despite the jumble of different toys on the shelf, Stiles is pretty sure they’re in a shop somewhere, not a home. He’s also pretty sure it’s after closing, which is the one stroke of good luck in this entire adventure.

Which is why there shouldn’t be anyone else here. But the click of a door closing and another jangle of the welcoming bell says otherwise.

“I’m still not certain I trust your source, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, neither am I. But do you really want to ignore the idea that some kid might get a possessed toy for Christmas?” Rustling around on the other side of the store. “We’ll be quick about it, Cas. Luckily this one’s close to home, so we can find the damned thing, burn it, and be back in the bunker by nightfall.”

“Hunters,” Stiles hisses. “And not ones we know.”

This is what they get for coming all the way out to Lebanon, Kansas to meet up with someone in order to get an artifact. It was a lie. A trap. And really, they should’ve smelled it coming.

Distraction is a really terrible thing, sometimes. But seriously, how often do they get to go off on their own? It may not have been a great motel room, but it served its purpose.

Jackson burrows onto Derek’s lap, sprawled across his furry legs. His tail flicks back and forth, and when Stiles grabs him to try to stop it, Jackson huffs and a small tendril of smoke escapes.

“Dean.”

Oh, shit.

Stiles freezes and topples over, landing sprawled on both Jackson and Derek. Jackson huffs again and Stiles sneezes when the smoke tickles his nose. Derek growls and grips them both tightly before they fall off the shelf.

“Huh. I see what you mean, Cas.”

Stiles looks up to find two men staring down at them. The taller has brilliant green eyes that don’t quite put Derek’s to shame, but they get close (Stiles is biased, he’ll admit—he likes the absolutely indescribable green of Derek’s eyes). The latter has his brow furrowed, bright blue eyes piercing and sharp as he leans in close.

Jackson huffs a tiny gout of flame, and the man jerks backwards quickly. “Dean, I think we’ve found our possessed toys,” he says.

“Yeah, I’m thinking you’re right. They seem pretty docile, all things considered. They’re not trying to kill us,” Dean says.

Jackson yawns. “I could. That would take effort, and you might get stuck between my teeth. I won’t have floss until I’m human again.”

“Haha, funny, Jackson.” Stiles pats his tail, tries to wrestle himself free. “Der, just let go. I’m going to talk us out of this.”

Cas—because the serious looking one has to be Cas—tilts his head. “This seems odd.”

“We’re not possessed.” Stiles raises both hands in the universal sign of don’t shoot. “And while yes, there is something supernatural going on, and yes, you are both hunters, I am not actually a Ken doll. We ran into a trap.”

“You don’t say,” Dean says dryly.

“There was a witch,” Stiles says.

“There’s always a witch,” Dean and Derek both say in concert. Dean frowns as he looks at the teddy bear.

“There are three of you,” Dean says.

“Stiles,” he introduces himself, then gestures to each of the others. “Jackson. And Derek. We’re on vacation from California and were just passing through to pick up an artifact for our Emissary—” He breaks off, getting his hands up again, placating as he sees Dean and Cas tense up. “Yes, my boyfriends are werewolves. I’m a spark. But we’re also in an alliance with the Argents.”

“You’re part of the McCall/Hale pack,” Dean says slowly. “I’ve heard of you. Only known fully peaceful wolf pack out there.”

Stiles grumbles under his breath, because that’s a reputation they really need to change. “Actually, there are a lot of peaceful packs, but your lot doesn’t usually run into them because the peaceful ones know how to fly under the radar. Anyway, not the point. This teddy bear here,” he pats Derek’s leg and ignores the low growl, “is Derek Hale.”

“You’re a toy,” Cas says.

“The best toy,” Jackson replies, grinning sharply as he exhales smoke.

Cas glances at Dean. “Where did you say you got your lead? Do you think this may have been a trap for us as well?”

Dean’s frown deepens. “Yeah. I get the feeling we’ve all been set up, and someone’s trying to incite a big mess. Cas, get the teddy bear; I’ll get the dragon and Ken doll. Let’s get them back to the bunker and see if we can undo this.”

#

If Stiles had legs that were more than six inches long, he’d be trying to find the library. As it is, just hopping down from the table he’s currently on could break him.

Not to mention that Derek has his furry arms wrapped around both him and Jackson, keeping them in place.

“I could fly,” Jackson muses. “I have wings. I could probably fly.”

“Do you really want to test whether it would be flying, or falling with style?” Derek asks, and Jackson makes a disgruntled noise.

“Derek, let me go, so I can go work with Dean and Castiel.” Stiles has the names correct now, and he realizes that they have fallen in with the Winchesters, who are probably the only other truly terrifying hunter family other than the Argents. Because of course they go from one big family to another.

Dean plucks Stiles from Derek and carries him over to another desk, sitting him down on top of a marble paperweight. “Okay. Talk to us.”

“Aren’t there usually more of you?” Stiles asks.

Dean glances at Castiel, who smiles slightly. Dean coughs. “We have the bunker to ourselves for a little while. It’s a gift from Sam. He convinced everyone else to clear out.”

“Sam believes that it would be best for us to get our shit together without prying eyes upon us,” Castiel says solemnly. “He does not realize that we got our shit together long ago. This just gives us leave to do so loudly.”

“Cas, they don’t need details,” Dean mutters.

“I live in a pack house, believe me, I understand,” Stiles says. “I have been traumatized by some of the things I’ve heard my brother doing. And he says that if he never has to hear Derek howl again—”

“Stiles,” Derek growls. He sounds like a rabid teddy bear, which is… odd, but still good enough to give Stiles a fear boner.

If he were anatomically correct enough to actually have that happen. Stupid doll parts.

“If you focus on breaking whatever spell turned me into a teddy bear, I will promise that Jackson will spend at least an hour doing whatever you want,” Derek grumbles.

“Hey!” Jackson protests.

“No, he’s right, I like your tongue best,” Stiles agrees. “Deal. Done. So.” He sits down on top of a paperweight, and rubs his hands together. “Let’s put all our cards on the table and see what we’ve got.”

It takes some time to sift out the salient and useful details from the unimportant bits, but in the end they decide that there are at least three witches—one male, two female—and that they suspect someone’s trying to start a war.

“Why bother?” Jackson puffs disgruntled smoke from his perch on the shelf with Derek. “We don’t bother anyone. We aren’t even from around here.”

“But we are, and the Winchesters are renowned hunters,” Castiel muses. “It is very possible that it is not so much a war they want, but to use you as unwitting weapons against us.”

“Which has failed.” Stiles slaps his knees. “Booyah!”

“You are such a dork,” Jackson mumbles.

“And you love me anyway.” Stiles leans forward. “So, the real question is, what do we do now?”

“We could gank ‘em, but that might not break the spell,” Dean mutters.

“No killing,” Derek orders.

“I have an idea,” Castiel says.

Stiles doesn’t have anything better to offer, so what the hell, it sounds like they’re following angelic orders this time around.

#

“That was—”

“Unexpectedly messy.” Castiel brushes droplets of goo from his trench coat. “I do not believe that anyone could have predicted that exact reaction.”

“If we’d given Stiles more time—”

Stiles cuts off Jackson’s words by patting his cheek. “Honestly, no, I wasn’t doing any better. And while we can blame my lack of forethought on the fact that my doll body didn’t have any kind of actual grey matter in my head… it’s probably just that no one’s ever met a sentient can of slime before.”

Dean lifts his flannel to his nose, inhales and shudders. “It reeks.”

Derek prowls around the room, sticking his nose into places that Stiles is certain smell worse than the slime itself. He takes careful pictures of the entire scene, and in the end, closes the book that lies on the table and tucks it under his arm.

Dean clears his throat. “I don’t think so, wolf.” Castiel places a hand on Dean’s arm, halting him before he takes more than a step toward Derek.

Stiles and Jackson place themselves between the Winchester hunters and Derek.

“The book is what we came to get,” Stiles says slowly. “And it’s actually ours. It bears the mark of the Hale family, and it was stolen from them a long time ago. And it apparently contains a lot of really nasty little spells involving werewolf blood that I’d like to see locked away in the Hale vault for a long, long time. No one deserves doll parts. No one.”

He manages not to flinch as Jackson inches closer, squeezing his ass. “Your parts feel fine,” Jackson murmurs, and okay, yeah, that’s a distraction.

Derek looks up, nostrils flaring. “Stiles.”

Yeah, well, who can blame him when he’s got one lover squeezing his ass, and the other is starting to growl? He’s back to being fully functional now, thanks, and that means he’s pretty much ready to go.

“Do you think we should offer them a place to stay in the bunker, Dean?” Castiel asks, and Derek growls more loudly.

“I think they probably already have a place to stay, and I think we should go back and enjoy our time alone now that this is all wrapped up,” Dean says. Or Stiles thinks he says, because he is no longer paying attention.

It’s hard to pay attention when Jackson’s nipping at his neck, probably leaving bruises, and Derek’s making noises like he’s about to join in.

Stiles bruises easily and if he’s honest, he loves it.

“Do you need a ride?” Castiel asks.

“We can handle it,” Derek says, voice low. “I’ll make sure Stiles is taken care of.”

The world tilts as Jackson lifts Stiles, and as far as Stiles is concerned. This is over. Done. He waves while being carried out. “I’ve got your number,” he yells. “I’ll text you. We should keep in touch, make alliances, hunt evil things together. Protect the good monsters.”

He has no idea if they answer because as soon as Jackson puts him down, Stiles is shoved up against a wall.

And yeah. Stiles definitely is fully functional. No more doll parts, and he is ready to roll.

Thankfully for him, so are Derek and Jackson. Assignment done, and everything else, including the Winchesters, can wait for another time.


End file.
